


Sherlock Should Have Bitten His Tongue

by TheSleeplessWriter



Series: An Agreement of Sorts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Discipline, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, John keeping Sherlock in check, M/M, Pre-Johnlock, Sherlock Being an Asshole, Spanking, i guess, mouth soaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleeplessWriter/pseuds/TheSleeplessWriter
Summary: A quick look into a moment when Sherlock shouldn't have spoken his thoughts aloud.





	Sherlock Should Have Bitten His Tongue

John Watson is a patient man. Hell, he'd been shot during war and somehow managed to wait amidst the burning Afghan sun for the medic to arrive. Still, he has limits. These limits may be far off in the distance, so far off that you must squint at the horizon to see them, but they exist. And whoever crosses that limit has hell in store. 

Sherlock was giddy at today's crime scene, which was fairly unorthodox considering how gruesome they were. A heap of naked, disemboweled bodies were found in an empty flat after neighbors complained of the smell. The livers were missing, and the faces slashed and demolished beyond recognition. Even the teeth were cut out; obviously the murderer did not want the victims to be identified. 

Even though he was a doctor, and had come across different horrific smells, John couldn't help but cover his nose with his jumper to ward off the scent of rotting flesh. 

"This'll be tough one, even for you." Lestrade commented frustratedly, scratching at the back of his head. 

"Nonsense. It'll be tough for simpleminded children, such as—" 

John lands a not-so-subtle kick to the back of Sherlock's leg, discouraging him from finishing that sentence. Sherlock closes his eyes and quickly shakes his head, as if he were shaking away the snarky insults. 

"How bout you try to figure out who these people were?" John suggests, hoping it will lead Sherlock away from insulting his friend. 

Sherlock lets out a small smile and crouches down to the floor, meeting a thin brunette corpse. With his blue latex gloves, he inspects her frail, mutilated body. 

"Librarian." Sherlock remarks after placing down her pale hand. 

"She's got little paper cuts littered around her fingers, and her feet have a permanent arch from high heels. There are subtle creases on her wrists, so she works at a desk." Sherlock gently rolls her body over, showing a tiny tattoo of a stack of books on her side. "And then there's the book tattoo. Hidden so it cannot be seen and hinder a job opportunity." He strokes her dark hair, a moment of sympathy passing through his head. The phrase "Doesn't matter now." was left unspoken. 

"Well done." Lestrade praises, stepping aside for the pathologist interns to carry away the body. He sighs as he watches them work. "Right good job that was." 

John smiles at Sherlock's quick work. He could be brilliant when he wanted. 

"It was nothing. A simple exercise to stave off the rotting of my brain. Any child would have noticed." Sherlock is feeling rather pompous and vain today, and that is never good news. 

"I didn't." Lestrade mutters, only feeding to the fire that was Sherlock's attitude. 

"Yes, well, you don't notice very many things. Such as the fact that your wife —Hannah, was it?— is sleeping with the medical student next door. Why, they're probably at it right now." Sherlock speaks quickly, not letting any of his words go through a filter of what was "a bit not good". 

The interns look up in surprise, momentarily stopping their work. 

Lestrade looks down and quietly clenches his fists. If he were a lesser man, he might have given Sherlock the blow to the mouth that he deserves. 

John's expression speaks that he isn't as forgiving. With one hand holding up his jumper and another Sherlock's arm, he hauls the consulting detective down the stairs. 

"It's getting late. We can meet at Bart's tomorrow, maybe 8." John says over his shoulder before walking out the door. He takes a deep breath, savoring the fresh air. 

While they wait for a cab, John struggles to keep his voice down as he scolds his flat mate. 

"Lestrade is a good friend, and is going through some personal issues. It is downright mean to point them out and insult his intelligence. You're better than that. I've had it with you, Sherlock Holmes!" John finishes his tirade as the cab pulls up next to them. 

Sherlock silently thinks on these words. Is John saying he wants to leave? 

Trying to keep his voice monotone and uninterested, Sherlock speaks, "If you are going to leave, I suggest you remove your belongings by Friday, as I could have use of that room by then." His voice still betrays him, as it cracks slightly in his worry. 

John confusedly peers at Sherlock as he steps into the cab. "I'm not leaving. But we are having a discussion when we get back to the flat." 

\--------------

As they enter 221B, Sherlock hangs up his coat and sits in his chair, awaiting the aforementioned discussion. John lays his jacket on the chair and rolls up his sleeves, as if mentally preparing himself. 

"Well, our discussion?" Sherlock asks, crossing his legs and steepling his hands underneath his chin. 

John shakes his head. "Not here. In the bathroom." 

Sherlock would liked to have argued and questioned this, yet he already feels he is on thin ice. Instead, he obediently follows John to the bathroom. 

Leaning against the counter, Sherlock watches as John searches throughout the cabinets, looking for something. 

"Aha." John says to himself, opening up a white box of soap. 

The wheels turn in Sherlock's head, and he connects the dots. He has seen enough of The Christmas Story to see where this is heading. 

John wets the bar of soap and walks towards Sherlock. 

"Fuck no." Sherlock grits, his mouth tight lipped to ensure the soap would not be shoved in. 

"If you think you don't deserve it, you can leave." John motioned to the open door. "This'll teach you to think before you open your mouth."

Sherlock stalled, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the counter. It was pretty disheartening to see the look of tired sadness on Lestrade's face, and he grimaced at the knowledge that he hurt his friend. 

"Okay then. Open up." John shoved the soap close to the plump lips, but they refused to open.

Sherlock turned his face. "No." He mutters. Even though he knows he deserves it, he doesn't want to give in. 

John grabs at Sherlock's arm and turns his body to the side, delivering five searing smacks to the seat of his trousers. 

"Ah!" Sherlock whines, his mouth opening in shock. 

John takes the opportunity and slides the soap in immediately. Sherlock's face contorts horridly at the taste and spits it back out. The soap makes a bouncy noise as it hits the tile. 

"Did you just spank me?" He shouts indignantly, stamping his foot. 

"That was a few smacks. If you want a real spanking, spit the soap out again." John warns, rinsing off the bar before putting it back in Sherlock's mouth. 

Sherlock huffs and crosses his arms, turning his head to face away from John, black curls bouncing. 

"Five minutes, and you'll be done. Then you can rinse and call Lestrade to apologize." John sits on the closed toilet seat as he checks his watch. 

After what feels like eternity (only five minutes), Sherlock rushes to the sink to spit out the dreadful bar of soap. He gags multiple times (so many times you can tell he is overreacting), and places his head under the faucet to gargle and rinse with water. 

"Alright, now phone up Lestrade." John orders, a little smile forming from watching Sherlock's dramatics. He is a drama queen through and through. 

"Lestrade? I just wanted to apologize for the statements I made earlier. While not untrue, they were cruel and unnecessary." Sherlock says after dialing the DI's number. John nodded in encouragement. 

"It's alright, I suppose. You simply spoke without thinking, like usual. It's silly to pretend it isn't happening, but more politeness would be appreciated." Lestrade said in a kind tone. It was nice to hear Sherlock actually owning up to his mistakes and apologizing. Still, he wouldn't be fooled into thinking this sudden spurt of courtesy happened without any outside intervention. 

"Now, what did John say to make you say that?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is just a little side project that I thought of this morning. I'll get back to my other fics soon. Let me know what you think! :)


End file.
